


Summer Air

by lipsstainedbloodred



Series: visible world [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: AU, Domestic Fluff, M/M, because i am softe, canon has no power here, obligatory dancing in the kitchen fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:13:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23363002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lipsstainedbloodred/pseuds/lipsstainedbloodred
Summary: Martin and Gerry dance in the kitchen to the radio.
Relationships: Implied Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay
Series: visible world [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1679638
Comments: 7
Kudos: 215





	Summer Air

Martin likes listening to music while he cooks. It’s something he’d never been able to do when he was younger, as he hadn’t wanted to wake his mother or risk not being able to hear if she called for help, but he enjoys it now. Another foot in the right direction, as Gerry likes to say, doesn’t matter how big the step is as long as you keep taking them. 

The kitchen in their flat is a decent size, with a large window above the sink overlooking the street below. Martin likes to keep the window open when he cooks, too. He likes to imagine the sound of the radio twisting out with the summer breeze, little half notes and quarter notes dancing between the buildings. It’s silly. He knows it’s silly, but- well, he’s trying to be better about letting himself have things that he wants. 

He’s got the volume down low while he works. Gerry’s asleep in the bedroom, exhausted after pulling another double at the bar, and Martin can’t stand the thought of waking him. He’s got onions and garlic sautéing in a pot while he works on chopping mushrooms, singing along to the radio. 

Martin knows he doesn’t sing well, not like Jon or Gerry, and that he’s perpetually flat but there’s something about singing just for the joy of it.

He opens a can on crushed tomatoes and adds them to his pot, mashing them with a wooden spoon. He likes the rhythm of it, singing and cooking. He adds his spices and turns the heat down to let his sauce simmer. 

A hand closes around Martin’s hip, lips pressing to the back of his neck. “Smells good.” Comes a sleep roughened rumble. 

Martin jerks and curses, reaching out to fumble the radio off. “Christ Gerry, I thought you were asleep.” He puts his hand on top of Gerry’s, sliding their fingers together, and turns his head to drag his lips across Gerry’s cheek. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I thought I had it turned down low enough.”

Gerry squeezes his sides. “I listen to pounding bass music all night, you listening to Hozier at the world's lowest volume isn’t going to wake me.” 

“Mm.”

“Turn it back on.”

“Hm?”

Gerry nudges him. “Go on. Turn it back on, and turn it up.”

Martin frowns but Gerry just kisses the slope of his shoulder and waits. Slowly, Martin reaches back over to the radio and turns it back on, dialing it up louder. 

Gerry hums in thanks and starts to sway them back and forth lightly, just the barest of movements. Martin’s face flushes with heat automatically in response. He’s a lousy singer, but a worse dancer. “Gerry…” he tries, the protest dying before it can even fully form. Suddenly the warm breeze from the window feels stiflingly hot. 

“Hm?” Gerry keeps them close, “Your sauce isn’t going to burn, is it?”

“What? No, no the sauce will be fine.”

“Good. Dance with me.”

“Gerry-“

“Martin.” Gerry stops only so he can turn Martin around. Martin’s taller than Gerry, but Gerry has to cup his cheek to get him to make eye contact. Martin is very good at making himself seem small. “If it’s a no, it’s a no, I won’t push that-” Gerry’s other hand cups the side of his neck and then slides down his arm to tangle their fingers together. “But I would very much like to dance with you.”

Martin swallows. His chest feels drawn tight but he pushes out a breath regardless. He does it again. Breathing in and then out, slowly, focusing on the twin points of warmth with Gerry’s hand on his cheek and their fingers laced together. “I’m...not an amazing dancer.”

“You don’t need to be,” Gerry says, “you just need to trust me.”

Martin chokes on a laugh, the giggle bubbling up his chest and spilling out his lips like foam. “Okay.”

Gerry swoops in to kiss him then, narrowly avoiding bashing their noses together and smushing Martin’s glasses. Martin tilts his head and when Gerry starts to rock them together, this time Martin follows him. The gentle rocking turns into something more like swaying, and Gerry takes a step, pulling Martin along with him.

It isn’t-- Martin isn’t even sure they’re dancing along to the rhythm exactly, and he breaks the kiss to glance down at his socked feet and make sure he doesn’t step on Gerry’s toes. “Don’t think about it.” Gerry wraps both of his arms around Martin’s neck, and Martin is instantly reminded of his aunt’s wedding when he was 13. The girl his aunt had asked him to dance with holding his neck and looking like she’d rather be anywhere else. The difference here is Gerry is looking at him like he’s something amazing, like he’s something worthwhile. 

Martin sucks in a breath and drops his head to Gerry’s shoulder, hands clenched tight in Gerry’s shirt, rucking up the fabric in the back. “If I step on your foot,” Martin says tightly.

“I’ll step on yours back, Blackwood.”

Laughter crashes out of his mouth like a battering ram and Martin presses closer, pulls Gerry in tighter and lets himself be guided around the kitchen in clumsy circles. Warm, summer air filters in from the open window, rustling the light curtains Martin has pushed back. Martin hums along to the music, chest cracked open and full of sweet honey. 

Gerry kisses the top of his head and side of his face like he can’t help himself, running a hand up through Martin’s hair and then dropping it back to his shoulder. “Perfect.” Gerry mumbles against his temple.

“Hm?” Martin squeezes Gerry’s sides with his elbows. “This?”

“You.”

Martin swallows past the lump rapidly building in his throat. “Well, I don’t-- I don’t know--”

“I know,” Gerry soothes, hand curled soothingly around the back of Martin’s neck, “I know. It’s alright, Martin.”

Martin focuses on his breathing, the steady in and out, while Gerry just rocks him back and forth. Martin lets out a long, deep breath and closes his eyes.

“Do you want me to stop?” Gerry asks, one hand at his neck and the other trailing soothing circles along his upper back. 

“No,” Martin whispers, and then clears his throat. “No.” He says again, stronger.

“Okay.” 

They stay wrapped up like that for what feels like the rest of the afternoon, Martin can’t be sure. He can’t hear the music over the thud of Gerry’s heart against his ear and his gentle whispering. Eventually he knows he’ll have to pull away. Jon will be home soon, and dinner will need to be finished. He’ll have to put Gerry to work making garlic bread, and Martin knows Jon will make a truly awful vampire joke about it. 

But for now he can just rest, safe and wrapped up in the arms of someone he loves.


End file.
